“How can you be out of humor on such a morning?” cried she, as the prow of her canoe slid gently out of the water and she rose to her feet. “On the contrary, I’m in a fine humor.” And his look and voice bore him out. “Didn’t I tell you I was going to town to-day? I simply took my walk here.” She laughed. “Neither did I expect you. I simply took my outing here.” And when he blushed in confusion and annoyance, she laughed the more gayly. “You are so amusing,” she said tenderly. “I’ll admit,” said he, “that I thought there was a chance you might come. And I thought, if you did, it would be the best opportunity to have a plain talk with you.” She seated herself, or, rather, balanced herself, on the forward curve of her canoe. He occupied a big bowlder near the maple under which he always painted. “I see,” observed she, “that you are getting ready to say a lot of things you don’t mean. How you will thank me some day for having been patient with you!” He averted his eyes, muttered something incoherent, searched confusedly for his cigarettes. “You always keep the case in your lower left-hand waistcoat pocket,” said she. And sure enough, there it was--to his increased confusion. But, when their glances met, the twinkle in her gray eyes--merry as the sunbeams that were changing the yellow of her hair to the reddish yellow of the finest gold--proved irresistible. “It’s simply impossible to be serious with you,” cried he, in what he would have liked to think a vexed tone. “And why should you be?” inquired the girl. “You used to warn me that I took everything, myself included, far too seriously. Now, you’re getting into the habit of taking yourself, oh, _so_ solemnly!--which is far worse than seriously. You’re more like a dismal preacher, a man with a mission, than an artist with the joy of living laughing in his heart. You made a great hit last night.” He, off his guard, looked as pleased as a boy that has just got a present of a gun. “Glad I didn’t disgrace you. You remember how nervous you were about it.” “Your talk about that shirt was a little disturbing. It came out well. At least, I think it did. People don’t notice your clothes. They look at _you_.” “Now, how am I to say what I’ve got to say, if you keep on like that?” demanded he. “Oh, but you are crafty!” “I don’t want to be lectured, Chang.” He settled himself with an air of inflexible resolution. “I’m not going to lecture,” said he. “I’m going to deliver myself of a few words of good sense and then say good-by.”